


Too Young to Kiss

by alice_time



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015), Too young to kiss
Genre: AU, F/M, Gaby is a concert pianist, Illya is the impresario, It's a movie, Non-Consensual Spanking, Solo is her friend, Spanking, The man from uncle/too young to kiss AU no one asked for and I wrote anyway, pretending to be a teenager
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-04-17 21:07:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4681520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alice_time/pseuds/alice_time
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The film Too Young to Kiss is about a twenty-something pianist that pretends to be her younger sister to have a chance at her dream of playing for a real audience. In this, Gaby is the concert pianist who can't seem to get Mr. Kuryakin to keep a damn appointment and uses her small stature and baby face to her advantage, pretending to be a fourteen-year-old girl in order to participate in contest and get his attention. Solo is her best friend and confidant, who sort of came up with the plan in the first place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bad Ideas

                                                                                              

 

Gaby Teller had dreamed of being a concert pianist for the New York Symphony since she first plucked out _Mary Had a Little Lamb_ on Mrs. Windom’s old baby grand in her first week of lessons. She had practiced every day, working toward that singular goal and now she had a meeting with Illya Kuryakin, a man who could get her to her dream--if he didn’t cancel again.

She sat in his waiting room, fashionably dressed for the February weather. Her gloves and hat were set aside on top of her handbag and she was attempting to put her mind to ease by reading a magazine while glancing at the clock every five minutes and getting up every ten to ask the prepossessed secretary guarding Mr. Kuryakin’s door how much longer it would be.

Gaby wasn’t by nature a patient woman.

The secretary’s phone rang, breaking the silence.

“Mr. Kuryakin?—Yes—of course—yes.” The secretary put down the phone and looked at Gaby.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Teller, but Mr. Kuryakin has an emergency meeting with one of his clients, we’ll have to reschedule.”

Gaby stood up, stalking to the desk. “This is the fourth time,” she spat.

“Yes, it’s really very—”

“Tell Mr. Kuryakin that I’m not going to be pushed around. He _is_ keeping this appointment.”

“There’s nothing I can do, Ms. Teller, I’m very sorry.”

Gaby slammed her fist down onto the desk, the laminate cracked. “Fine. Reschedule. Whatever.” She turned heel and marched out of the office, simmering in rage.

***

Illya Kuryakin was not precisely having the best of days. He had been auditioning a few pianists—finding nothing more than a tension headache—when his most temperamental client barged in. He finished the drink he’d been nursing in a single swallow and braced himself for whatever was coming.

Victoria Pellarmo was a raven-haired beauty in white fur. “Illya, darling, what is this about you sending me to Switzerland? I cannot go to Switzerland, my voice is delicate.” She glared at him.

Illya blinked and looked at the young man butchering Chopin at the grand piano that dominated the corner of his office.

“Daniel, you can go. I will call.”

“Thank you, Mr. Kuryakin.”

After the young man was gone, Illya went to his desk and picked up the phone, dialing his secretary’s desk.

“I need you to cancel my appointments for the day—Ms. Pellarmo is distressed—reschedule anything you have to.” He hung up and turned back to Victoria with a strained smile. “You know the concert is important, Victoria but—I suppose we could send you to Athens instead?”

She smiled. “That would be wonderful, Illya. And perhaps you and I could go to dinner tonight?” She stripped off the coat to reveal a _very_ red dress.

“Ah, Victoria, you know I adore you but I have to see Mr. Petrov tonight if I’m going to arrange for someone else to go Switzerland.”

“Illya,” she pouted.

He sighed. This was going to be a _very_ long evening.

***

Gaby arrived home, stripping off her winter things and setting aside her bag with a huff before heading for the small upright piano she kept in her living room and sitting down to play Schubert’s [Der Leiermann](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sIIS-UgixGE) to calm herself down.

Upon finishing the piece, applause erupted from her couch, now occupied by a tall handsome fellow with a smile on his face.

Gaby frowned at him. “Solo, I’ve asked you not to pick the lock on my door.”

“And I’ve told you to get a deadbolt,” he replied. “That was wonderfully played. How did it go?”

“Cancelled, again.” She sighed. “I’m beginning to think I’m never going to get a chance to play for him. I should just get married and go to the countryside. Forget about this.”

“That’s not the Gaby I know,” Solo rebuffed. “You’ll feel better after a glass of vodka and some real food. I saw your cupboards, when was the last time you bought groceries?”

“I had to give all my money to the landlord for rent,” she sighed. “Those little club gigs you get me are all well and good but the pay isn’t great.”

“I know. It’s my treat though.” He stood up and held out his hand. “Come on.”

She took his hand, feeling dwarfed by his height—as usual. “I do need a drink.”

He smiled brightly. “That’s my girl.”

***

Solo had to assist his drunk friend home, which after the first flight of steps consisted of him tossing her over his shoulder to minimize her falling down.

“You really shouldn’t have drank all that vodka. When I said a glass you know, I didn’t mean half a bottle.”

“Shuddup.” She sniffed. Gaby was a sad drunk after five shots. “Had to prove that stupid bartender wrong.”

“Is this because he thought you were a schoolgirl?”

She sniffed again. “It’s ‘cause I’m short, isn’t it?” She shook her head and sighed. “Short. That’s why stupid I’m-so-amazing-Kuryakin won’t see me. I’m just a small fry.”

Solo sighed. “Gaby, he’s an idiot. You are _very_ talented and I know you will find a way to show him how talented you are.”

He got her into her apartment and set her down on the couch to pull down the Murphy bed.

“He’s stupid,” she replied, sprawled out on the couch. “I was just gonna find a public event or something he’d be at and play but—he doesn’t _do_ those.”

Solo shook his head. He loved Gaby, but this attention on Kuryakin was distracting her from other agents in the city. Sure, the man _was_ the best, and Solo didn’t really want Gaby to settle for less but perhaps it was time to move on.

“Gaby, I know you have your heart set but perhaps you could look at other options. Waverly is taking clients right now too.”  
“No,” she pouted. She picked up a newspaper and held it up. “You know where Waverly’s— _hiccup—_ clients end up?”

“No.”

“The _fifth_ page.” She shook her head. “I can’t be on the fifth page.” She tossed the paper, which struck a vase, sending it to the floor in a crash.

Solo sighed. “Gaby, don’t throw things when your drunk.”

“I’m not drunk. Maybe you’re drunk.”

“Mmm hmmm,” he shook his head and went to examine the damage, picking up the paper and picking up the bigger pieces of vase.

As he threw them in the waste basket, he couldn’t help but notice an ad. “What about this? It’s says Kuryakin will be judging a contest next week.” He handed her the paper. She looked at it and then sniffed dismissively.

“It’s for _children_ , Solo. I am not a child.”

Solo blinked and a sly smile crossed his face. “But Gaby, you could… _pass_ …as a child.”

She frowned. “I’m drunk and you’re crazy.”  
He smiled again. “We’ll talk again when you’re sober.”

She wrinkled her nose, hiccupped again and promptly threw up.

“Being your friend is a full-time job.”

***

“Good morning sunshine,” Solo said, handing Gaby a cup of coffee.

“Turn off the smile, it’s too bright,” she muttered, sipping the coffee. “My head feels like—bad.” She sat down at the table. “Why are you still here?”

“Because I was afraid that if I left you alone you would die in the night,” he replied. He passed her a glass of water and two aspirin. “When you think you can handle food, let me know. I’ll make breakfast.”

“Hmm.” She shook her head. “Why did I drink so much?”

“The bartender was being an ass.”  
“Oh.”

“Your temper is a problem.”

“Hmm.” She straightened, rolling the kinks out of her neck. “I have a vague recollection of you saying something about me using my small stature and baby face to advantage.”

“You remember that?”

She shrugged and took the aspirin.

“Well, I did.” He pushed the paper her way. “You could play in this concert as a child. We just have to pass you off as fourteen.”  
She frowned. “I don’t know Solo.”

“I think we can pass you off for a couple hours, Gaby. Then, after Kuryakin hears you play and realizes how amazing you are you can reveal yourself. He’ll be so impressed by the lengths you went to he’ll be certain to sign you.”  
“I mean—maybe—” she sighed. “It would be sort of amazing to make him look like an idiot.”

Solo smiled. “That means you and I need to go shopping.”

She sighed. “After the headache goes away.”

“Of course.”

***

Gaby was having second thoughts as Solo straightened the bow in her hair.

“I don’t know about this, I mean…” She chewed on her lip.

“Don’t worry. This little deception is going to work.” He smiled. “Trust me.”

“You do this for a living.” She peered at him. “I mean, I’m not an actor, I don’t think I can do this.”

“You can do this, Gaby. Don’t worry. Just pitch your voice up an octave and pout. You’ll be fine.”

She took a deep breath. “If this goes sideways, I’m going to move to the country. I’ll end up playing piano in some little church on Sundays.”

“You’re being ridiculous.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “You can do this. Impress him. Make him see you.”

“Okay. Okay.” She took another deep breath. “I can do this.”

“Alexandra Teller?” A stagehand called.

Gaby raised her hand. “That’s me.” As Solo suggested, she pitched up her voice. He smiled proudly.

“All right, Miss Teller, let’s go.” The stagehand smiled at her.

Gaby nodded and put on a smile. “Okay.”

“You’re going to do great, don’t worry.”

Solo nodded encouragingly as Gaby headed out onto the stage.

Illya Kuryakin was sandwiched between the members of the Children’s Music Board, yawning. The seemingly endless march of uncertain and nervous musicians had been going on for hours now. He would’ve preferred another dinner with Victoria and her attempts to bed him, than this.

“Now presenting Miss Alexandra Teller on piano.”

He prepared himself mentally for another rendition of _Moonlight Sonata_ when the dainty brunette at the piano dove into Schubert with vigor. Her hands made precise movements, her eyes locked on the sheet music.

He sat up and leaned forward, enraptured by the girl at the piano.

He remained silent until she finished and stood up immediately to applaud as she rose, curtseyed, and hurried off the stage.

“That girl,” Illya said. “She was amazing. I have to talk to her.” He skipped over the rows of seats in front of him, grateful for his long legs, and hurried backstage to intercept the her.

“Miss Teller?” he called out. “Miss Teller?”  
She turned toward him. “Hello.”

“Miss Teller I’m Illya Kuryakin and I would be very grateful if you could come by my office tomorrow morning. Nine AM?”

She blinked. Solo took that as his cue. “You want to talk to Alexandra in your office?” he asked.

Illya looked at Solo and blinked. “And you are?”

“Her brother, Leo.”

“Ah, Mr. Teller, yes. I think Alexandra is very talented. We must move quickly though. Will you come by my office tomorrow? Please.”  
Gaby smiled. “Can we, Leo?”

“Of course, Alexandra.”

“Then I’ll be there,” she promised.

“Wonderful.” He smiled brightly. “Wonderful. I will see you tomorrow then.” He pressed his card into Solo’s hand. “You won’t regret it.”

Gaby smiled.


	2. The Charade Continues

“I think I understand the obsession now,” Solo remarked as they arrived back at Gaby’s apartment. “That man is...incredible.”

She wrinkled her nose. “His attractiveness has little to do with it.” She sighed. “So. How should I do it? I mean, obviously, I’m going to his office tomorrow but...what then? Do I surprise him right away or wait until the ink is dry on a contract?”

Solo poured them each a drink and sat down. “I admit to no small amount of curiosity regarding how long you can pull off this charade. The longer it goes the more foolish he’ll look and it will be a lot harder for him to get rid of you. Pry a few concerts out of him at least.”

“You just think it’s funny no one even questioned how old I was.” She tugged the bow out of her hair and took the drink. The plaid dress Solo had selected for her de-emphasized what curves she had but really it was the knee socks and her youthful appearance she had to thank for pulling this off.

“It is funny. I’m also a little proud.”

She rolled her eyes. “ _If_ I don’t tell him tomorrow, I’ll meet up with you for dinner. I can’t imagine we’ll be that late.”

“I sort of wanted to be there,” he admitted.

“Well, I don’t want you there. What if you say something weird? No.”

He pouted and she ignored him in favor of her drink. She had enough to worry about tomorrow without her “big brother Leo” deciding to spin more stories.

***

 Illya found himself in something of a daze as he prepared to see Miss Teller. She was a prodigy, of that he had no doubt and such a thing had to be cultivated with care. He couldn’t risk pushing her too hard. There was always some risk when it came to signing on children, true, but there could also be great reward. By the time his noon appointment rolled around, he thought he had everything sorted out.

He’d often thought it would be worthwhile to nurture such a talent.

“Mr. Kuryakin, Miss Teller is here.”

“Good, let her in. I want to get the photos taken.”

When Gaby entered his office, it was to flashbulbs. She blinked, half-blinded as Illya took her arm and smiled. “What is this?” She gestured to the small mob of photographers.

“For the papers. We must start your press campaign as quickly as possible. You’re going to be a sensation, Alexandra.”

Gaby took a moment to think over what he had just said. “Me? In the papers?”

“Yes of course. And magazines.”

“Alexandra Teller?” she prompted.

“Of course, that’s you after all. Young, talented. You are a prodigy. I have already managed to find a venue, in one month you will play with the Metropolitan Orchestra.”

Gaby realized rather rapidly that things had gotten out of control about the same moment the photographers stopped taking pictures and started heading out of the office. _Alexandra Teller is going to be famous. If I out myself now—it’s too late._

She blinked. _If I want this chance…I might actually have to play along._

She was going to kill Solo. Kill. This was the worst idea ever and now she _really_ wanted a drink and a cigarette.

“Come on, we have some contracts to look at. Your brother is not here?” Illya raised his eyebrows.

“He was feeling under the weather,” she said. “He said he would try to meet up with me later. I’m quite used to being on my own. He works odd hours—acting you know.”

“I see. So talent runs in the family.”

“Yes.”

“Of course, your brother must sign the contracts. For legality.”

“Of course. I can call him? Perhaps he will come in when he’s feeling better.”

“Very good. In the meantime, I would like to hear you play again.”

“All right.” She eyed the grand piano. “What am I playing?”

“A concerto.”

She nodded. “I’ll just phone my brother and then we’ll start.”

“Very good.” He smiled.

Gaby swallowed sharply. _Maybe Solo will have an idea of how to get out of this mess._

***

“Leo” met them at a restaurant for dinner. With a wink, he happily signed the papers while Illya ordered.

“Well, isn’t this exciting?” Solo asked. “My little sister is getting famous.”

“I think she is going to make you very proud,” Illya said. The waiter brought over the gentlemen’s drink orders and a glass of milk for Gaby, who eyed it in distaste.

_This is ridiculous_ , she thought. As a waiter drew near, she opened her mouth to ask for something else to drink, when the maître de appeared at Illya’s elbow.

“Forgive the interruption Mr. Kuryakin, but you have a phone call.”

Illya nodded sharply. “Ah, thank you I’ll be right there.” He glanced at Gaby and Solo. “Do excuse me for a moment.”

“Of course,” Solo said.

Gaby watched as Illya walked to the bar to take his call before turning to Solo, who was lighting a cigarette.

“Give me a sip of your drink,” she begged. “Please.”

Solo rolled his eyes. “Fine.”

She took more than a sip with something of a relief. “Could you give me a puff too?”

Solo gave her a look. “You act like you haven’t had a cigarette in days.”

“I have spent this _entire_ day pretending to be a little girl—because of you. Now give me the damn cigarette.”

“All right, all right.” He handed it over to her.

She inhaled and Solo, spotting Illya on his way back, snatched it back. The tall impresario did _not_ look please.

“Did you give this child a drink?” he asked, looking at Solo.

“Uh…”

“Alexandra, open your mouth, I need to smell your breath.”

Gaby pressed her lips together for a moment, but she needed to exhale the smoke and after a moment, coughed, blowing smoke into his face.

Illya flushed in anger. “You gave her cigarettes?” He shook his head, taking her by the arm and pulling her out of the chair so he could get to Solo. “What kind of brother are you? She is fourteen-years-old!”

Solo stood. “I take very good care of my sister—”

Illya punched him, took Alexandra by the hand and led her out of the restaurant.

“You can’t just take me away like this,” Gaby protested loudly. “He is my brother!”

“A brother who gives you alcohol is not a brother who should be raising you,” Illya fumed. “No, I am taking you to my house in the country. When your brother decides to be proper influence, you may see him again.”

“You can’t do this!”

“Your brother signed the contracts, I can, and I will.” Illya put her into the back seat of his car. “You will behave.”

Gaby huffed. She would just have to call Solo once they got wherever it was they were going. He could come get her and they’d end this whole charade.

Before it got any worse.


	3. Nightmare in the Making

Gaby woke up as Illya pulled into the drive of his country home, a ranch style house with a large garden and a rather fancy pool in the backyard. Illya helped Gaby out of the car and led her into the house. Gaby was certain she heard two dogs barking outside, but hadn’t seen them.

His housekeeper emerged from the kitchen, surprise on the older woman’s face. “Mr. Kuryakin, I did not expect you until the weekend.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Boygan. There was—change of plans.” He glanced at Gaby and then back to his housekeeper. “This is Alexandra, my newest client. She is a lovely pianist.”

“Has she had supper?” Mrs. Boygan asked.

“We—a glass of milk and some toast would not be unwelcome.”

“Of course.” Mrs. Boygan headed off to the kitchen.

“Come along, Alexandra, you can take the tour in the morning. I will show you up to your room.”

She considered kicking him in the shin and only just kept her temper as he guided her up the stairs to the spare bedroom.

“There is a new toothbrush, comb—whatever you need in the bathroom. I will find you something to sleep in.” He gave her a sharp look and then headed out of the room, leaving Gaby alone for a moment.

She spotted a phone on the sideboard and quickly dialed Solo’s number, hoping he would answer—it rang and rang. Footsteps alerted her to Illya’s return and she set the receiver back onto the cradle.

“I found these,” he held up a pair of silk men’s pajamas. “A Christmas present, never worn.” He set them on the end of the bed. “Get ready for bed.” He glanced at the phone. “I think I’ll take that with me, I don’t want you disturbed.”

Gaby sat down at the dressing table, digging through the drawers until she found a pair of scissors. With a vengeful mien, she cut down the legs of the pajamas. Illya winced and left with the phone. Gaby sighed. She had to get a message to Solo…preferably before this got _extremely_ out of hand.

Illya trotted down stairs to make a phone call to the office. Mrs. Boygan walked into the living room with a tray, waiting until Illya had finished on the phone.

“I have a tray for the little miss,” she said.

“I will take it up. Oh, and there is something you should know. Her brother has been raising her and he has…he has allowed her to drink and smoke. I think it best to remove temptation.”

“Of course, Mr. Kuryakin.” Mrs. Boygan nodded sharply. “I’ll lock it all up in the cabinet.”

“Thank you.” He took the tray and headed back upstairs. Gaby had settled into bed, looking more than a bit irritated. He set the tray down on the nightstand, considering how best to begin the conversation.

Gaby gave him a look. “Something you want to ask me?”

“Ah, yes.” He made a face. “How long have you been drinking?”

“Only a couple of years. A boy dared me—but I found I liked it.” She widened her eyes.

“I see.” He shook his head. “You must give up drinking and smoking.”

Feeling vindictive, Gaby looked him in the eye. “Well, if it is bad for me, surely it can’t be any good for you. If you want _me_ to quit…couldn’t you quit to? In solidarity?”

Illya’s eyebrow twitched. “I—” He sighed. “Very well. I will stop drinking and smoking if you will.”

“Well then, we should get rid of temptation.” She hopped out of bed with a smile.

“What?”

“Come on, hand over your cigarettes.” After a pause, she patted down his pockets, removing the pack and heading over to the fireplace, tossing them in with a gleeful smile. “See? Much better. Now, we should take care of the liquor too.”

“What?”

“Come on, Uncle Illya, you’ll feel better. I know it.” She smiled ever brighter and headed out the bedroom door and down the stairs, making a line for the liquor cabinet where Mrs. Boygan was putting away the liquor bottles. “Oh, you don’t need to do that, Mrs. Boygan,” she said. “We’re going to get rid of it.” She scooped up an empty waste basket and pushed it into Illya’s arms, loading the liquor bottles inside. “Come on, I know _just_ where to put these.”

Illya felt stunned as the tiny terror tugged him outside to the pool and began tossing the bottles into the water. He took her wrist as she took hold of a particularly expensive bottle.

“That is Napoleon brandy,” he protested.

“It all has to go, Uncle Illya.” She shook him off and tossed it in. Once all the alcohol was at the bottom of the pool, she turned back and smiled. “See? Isn’t that better?”

With a pained expression on his face, Illya nodded. “So much.”

Gaby’s smile stretched wider. “Well, off to bed then. Goodnight!”

He watched her skip back off inside, pony tail swinging.

***

Gaby was finding it somewhat hard to believe that Illya was quite so dense. Solo would be proud of her performance, she had little doubt, but still. She didn’t want to be a child prodigy, she wanted to play on her own merits. Without a gimmick. There had to be _something_ she could do to prove to him that she was a capable pianist.

If he could understand there was a difference between a fourteen-year-old girl and an eight-year-old girl, she might not feel like stabbing him in the leg with a fork.

Repeatedly.

She did, however, soften at the sight of the pair of baby grand pianos he kept in the music room. Her beat up little standing piano had nothing on these.

“What am I playing?” she asked as she took a seat.

“A concerto,” Illya replied, setting the music down. “I’d like you to sight read through it first if you can and we’ll see where you stumble. All right?”

“Very well.” She nodded curtly and began to play.

***

After three days in the countryside, Gaby still hadn’t managed to get a hold of Solo. She was either practicing or under Illya and Mrs. Boygan’s watchful eye. Finally though, after lunch, Illya asked her to go shopping with him. She needed some clothes and he was hoping to get his hands on some cigarettes while she was distracted.

Gaby watched Illya head into the store and quickly stopped at the payphone, dialing Solo’s number and praying he was home this time.

“You’ve got Solo.”

“Solo! It’s Gaby.”

“Gaby, dearest, I was starting to think he’d killed you or something.”

“Worse, he’s got me up at his country house playing happy families. This idea of yours is _terrible._ ”

“You can pull this off, Gabriella.” He sounded confident. “Give me the address and I’ll come see you as soon as possible. Okay?”

“Fine. But I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”

“Just…be a brat. Make him regret he ever met you. You can do that, can’t you?”

“With pleasure.” She quickly gave him the address and phone number before hanging up and heading inside. She was going to show Illya Kuryakin _exactly_ what Alexandra Teller was capable of.


	4. The Dam Breaks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gaby continues her onslaught against Illya. 
> 
> Illya finally snaps. 
> 
> *Ware-spanking at end of chapter.

Gaby had bought a pack of bubblegum at the store the previous day. As she worked through the concerto, she casually blew a large bubble, popping at she came to a pause. Illya flinched. She chewed loudly, blowing another bubble.

“That was very good, Alexandra.” He smiled. “Why don’t you take break?”

“Cool.” She popped another bubble and stood up, making a bee-line for the backyard. Illya had two friendly Labradors Gaby was fond of. Playing with them _almost_ made up for the lack of cigarettes.

She’d just tossed a ball for Tchaikovsky when she heard the echo of the doorbell. Gaby frowned, padding over to the patio door. She could see the front door from there, and spotted Illya opening the door for a tall, statuesque woman. She had pitch-black hair, pinned up, and wore a very expensive looking dress.

Gaby took an immediate dislike.

Korsakov trotted up to her, a stick in his mouth. “Oh, do you want me to throw it for you?”

The black Labrador dropped the stick, smiled up at her.

“All right.” She smiled back. “Just once, now.” She picked up the stick and tossed, Korsakov running after with a happy bark.

“Alexandra!” Illya called, “Come inside a moment.”

Gaby frowned and waited a full minute—counting the seconds off in her head—before doing as he asked.

“Yes, Uncle Illya?” She glanced at Victoria. “Who is this?”

Illya smiled, shoulders tense. “This is Victoria Pellarmo, one of my clients. She has a beautiful voice.”

“Oh, right. I remember my mother used to listen to you sing.” Gaby flashed a smile.

Victoria’s lips thinned. “What a…delightful child.”

“She is a most talented pianist,” Illya said. “Truly.”

“How lovely.” Victoria turned to Illya. “Do tell me you aren’t going to spend _too_ long out in the country? I will simply _waste away_ without you.” She pressed her hand to his chest.

He coughed. “You know I care about you, my dear, but young Alexandra needs to be handled with care. I have to keep a close eye on her. I will be back in the city in four weeks, I promise.”

“Illya…”

“We could have dinner tonight,” he added quickly. “Or go dancing, after Alexandra is in bed.” He switched to French—but Gaby was hardly monolingual.

Victoria made a face. “You could send her to bed early?” She spoke French back.

“How about eight o’clock?” Illya returned.

Gaby had had enough. “You will _not_ send me to bed early.” She glared at Illya for all she was worth.

Illya’s eyes widened a touch in surprise.

Gaby huffed and turned away, marching right back outside to play with the dogs.

“What a terrible child,” Victoria muttered. “I mean, _really._ ”

“I had no idea she spoke French.”

***

A week later, and Gaby was somewhat certain she had Illya on the ropes. He’d gotten a sort of twitch in one eye and taken to tapping whenever she did something particular upsetting. Gaby was guessing she’d have him dragging her back to New York in a couple of days.

Sure, she wanted the concert, but on _her_ terms.

Sitting in bed after a long day of practice, she was grateful for her quick fingers. She’d finally managed to squirrel away a few cigarettes. It was so relaxing to just lay back and take a few slow drags, blowing rings of smoke.

The dogs were barking at something, and then she heard Illya calling them off. Curious, she slipped out of bed and padded to the window. Illya was in his swim suit at the edge of the pool. She did have to admit, the man was…muscular. Perhaps under different circumstances, she might even be interested but the paternalistic attitude and absolute lack of professional courtesy prior to him thinking she was “Alexandra” was a deal breaker.

He dove into the pool, diving down. When he came back up, he had a bottle of liquor in one hand.

He was definitely close to breaking if he had to get a drink. _One more nudge out to do it._ She grinned, took one last puff of her cigarette and dropped it into the ash tray on the nightstand before padding downstairs in her nightdress. She’d thought the ruffles were a bit much when Illya bought it for her, but it did help sell the part.

The patio was cold under her bare feet. She pet Tchaikovsky on her way to the pool, meeting Illya at the edge and giving him a disapproving look.

“Oh, Uncle Illya.” She shook her head and snatched the bottle from his hand. “You _promised_.”

“Give that back,” he demanded, climbing out of the pool after her as she retreated.

With an impish smiled, she tossed the bottle. It went up in arc over Illya’s head and landed back in the pool with a splash.

His eye twitched, fingers tapping against his thigh. “That is last straw, Sasha.” He scooped up his robe from the deck chair and threw it on, tying the belt tightly around his waist before stalking forward and grabbing Gaby by the arm. Without a word, he laid six hard swats across her backside.

“Stop it!” she shouted.

“Oh no, we are not even started.” He led her back into the house. “I will see to you properly once I’ve calmed down. You are going in corner.”

_Is he serious?_ Gaby tried to pull free of him, and failed. Without a thought, she kicked him in the shin. He swatted her again without missing a beat, marched her into the living room and stood her in a corner.

“You will stay.”

Gaby was too startled to move.

Illya grabbed a towel, drying off and trying to get his temper in check. After a few minutes he was feeling more or less in control and strode back into the living room, eyeing Gaby. She was fiddling with the hem of her nightgown.

“All right, Sasha,” he said. “Turn around.”

Gaby wasn’t sure what to make of him calling her Sasha. She turned, slowly, to look at him.

“Upstairs.” He pointed imperiously. “Do not make me carry you.”

Gaby had little doubt he would do just that, and quickly made for the stairs, Illya following closely after her.

When they reached the doorway to her room, she realized the cigarette was still in the ash tray. She grimaced and trudged toward the bed.

Illya spotted the cigarette in a flash, stalking over to the ash tray and then looking at Gaby. “Where did you get this?”

She shrugged.

“We will not be finished here until I have them Sasha.”

She grimaced and headed over to the nightstand, digging the remaining cigarettes out of the sweet box she’d hidden them inside.

“Is this all? I will know if you lie.”

“Yes,” she mumbled.

“What was that?”

“Yes!”

“You do not raise voice to me, Sasha.” He counted the cigarettes and stuffed them into the pocket of his robe. “You are in enough trouble.” He sat down on the bed, took her by the arm and pulled her over his lap. “We will start with cigarettes.” He began spanking in earnest. “You do not smoke, Alexandra. I am the adult, you are the child. I will smoke and you will not.”

She kicked and squirmed, trying to get away from the hand heating her backside.

He continued the lecture. “I will drink, and you will not drink.”

Gaby whined, throwing her hand back. Illya easily captured her wrist and pulled her hand out of the way, but smacking her thighs in warning.

“You will stop being disrespectful. You will stop being rude to my guests. Are we clear?”

Self-preservation was the only thing on Gaby’s mind in that moment. “Yes!”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, sir,” she said quickly.

“And?” He kept spanking.

_And? And?_ She wracked her brain, trying to find the magic words to make him stop. _Oh._ “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, please, I’ll be good.”

Illya stopped. “Good. I do not want to do this again, Sasha.” After a moment, he started rubbing the small of her back. “I forgive you.”

Something about his gentle tone in the face of how utterly terrible she’d been to him these past weeks set her over the edge and she started to cry. Illya gathered her up into his arms, settling her into his lap. Gaby couldn’t recall the last time she’d been held. Her last boyfriend hadn’t been quite so…large. She felt strangely safe, despite her somewhat painful predicament. And he was still rubbing her back and…he started to sing. It was Russian and had a lullaby sort of quality.

She should have been pissed. She should have hit him and screamed at him, but all she really wanted to do was curl up in his arms.

And before she really knew what was happening, she’d fallen asleep. Illya tucked her into bed, retrieved the ash tray, and left his little prodigy with the hope that come morning, she’d be a perfectly behaved child.

Knock on wood.


	5. Winding Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gaby plots revenge but...will she go through with it?

Gaby was mortified. Brushing her teeth the next morning, she could barely look her reflection in the eye. _I cannot believe he did that._ Well, she could believe it, she just couldn’t believe she’d fallen asleep in his arms and he’d tucked her in.

_This has gotten completely out of hand._

She got dressed, and considered the best way to deal with this. She was supposed to be downstairs for breakfast soon, and then it was practice until lunch. If she didn’t tell Illya the truth today—well, when was she supposed to tell him?

She was going to _kill_ Solo the next time she saw him. Clearly, this entire disaster was his fault. Totally, completely, utterly his fault.

And if that giant Russian thought he’d somehow tamed her with a few smacks to the behind well…he had another thing coming. She wasn’t some wilting flower like that _woman_ he’d had over the other day. No. She’d fought to get where she was. She practiced every day. Walked a mile to her lessons. Moved to New York all on her own after her mother died.

_But I want that concert._

Playing with _the_ New York Symphony was a dream come true. Was she really going to give that up just because she’d gotten a spanking?

_I need to talk to Solo._

She headed downstairs to breakfast, still uncertain about what steps to take next. Illya was nowhere to be seen, but Mrs. Boygan had breakfast waiting for her.

“Good morning, Mrs. Boygan,” Gaby said. She’d never seen any point in being rude to Mrs. Boygan, it wasn’t her fault she worked for the big jerk. Besides, Mrs. Boygan made the best cinnamon rolls and Gaby never said no to good food.

“Good morning, Alexandra.” Mrs. Boygan gave her a knowing sort of look when Gaby winced while taking her seat.

She wasn’t _sore_ exactly, but it was a touch uncomfortable. Or perhaps it was just her imagination.

Mrs. Boygan set down a glass of water and a plate containing sausage and a cinnamon roll. “There you are dear.”

“Thank you.” Gaby took a sip of water. “Where is Uncle Illya?”

“He had to go out this morning to pick up some things. He’ll be back before you’ve finished breakfast though.”

“Oh.” Gaby picked up a sausage link, biting it in half and chewing meditatively.

“And if you’d like a cushion for the piano bench, there a couple in the closet.”

Gaby flushed and stuffed the rest of the sausage in her mouth to avoid answering. _As if I would show any weakness to that big lug._ Not that she needed one anyhow. She was a grown up, it was _that_ bad of a spanking. She could handle it.

And maybe if some salt ended up Illya’s next mug of coffee…

_Maybe you’ll get another spanking._

Gaby shook her head. There are to be some way to retaliate without ending up… _there._

There just had to be.

***

Gaby still hadn’t sorted out her method of retaliation when it came time for her pre-lunch break, and headed out of the house for some fresh air. Much to her surprise, she found Solo lurking in the garden. He was pretty good at lurking.

“Solo,” she hissed. “What took you so long?”

“I wanted to make sure your Russian bear was busy before I came close.” He managed a wry smile. “How are you holding up?”

Gaby grimaced. “I tried driving him crazy—that didn’t work out.”

“Oh? I thought for sure he’d be ready to cut you loose once you went full brat.” Solo frowned. “Are you sure you pushed enough?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” She unconsciously moved to rub her behind, and stopped just short. “I’m _very_ sure.”

Solo made a face. “Okay, so he’s a pushover?”

“Not a pushover.”

“I just don’t—”

“He spanked me. Okay?” She glared at her friend. “He put me over his knee and spanked me.”

Solo wasn’t sure how to react to that, but he was politic enough not to smile or laugh—because he knew if he did, Gaby would do something terrible to him. She had a vicious streak, his little friend. Like a rabid wolverine.

“All right so…do you want me to get you out of here?”

“I don’t know.” She frowned. “I still want this concert but…I also want to make him sorry.”

“A conundrum, given that if you retaliate he’ll probably repeat his previous actions.” Solo raised his eyebrows. “Which I’m certain you don’t want.”

Gaby nodded. “Suggestions?”

“Not a one. But darling, if you intend to continue this charade, might I suggest tact? If you start playing the good girl now, you’ll get what you want.” A sudden thought cross his mind. “You know…I have a reporter friend. She might be willing to expose this whole sordid affair. You play the concert as brilliantly as I know you can and the next morning, Illya Kuryakin is exposed to the world as the man who couldn’t even tell a grown woman from a little girl.”

“It’d humiliate him. I’d get my concert _and_ he couldn’t retaliate for it because I’d be out.” Gaby smiled, a slow, wicked smile. “That’s devious, Solo.”

“Thank you.”

“Okay, you take care of your end, and I’ll take care of mine.”

“Deal.”

***

Gaby took Solo’s advice to heart, playing the contrite child. What she hadn’t expected was Illya being…nice. He smiled more, and his gentle praise when she mastered a difficult part of the concerto made her feel—warm. He even started taking her out on the weekends. She should’ve found the trip to the carnival ridiculous but…it was fun. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d just done something because it was fun.

Every spare moment in the city was spent working or practicing or trying to get an appointment with someone who could get her a job. There wasn’t time for fun. The rare nights when she went out with Solo were few and far between.

Now that she wasn’t trying to infuriate the man, he was like a different person. She didn’t want to admit it but…even when she _was_ being terrible to him she’d felt a little guilty about it. The more time she spent with him the more uncertain she became about the plan. Two weeks in and Illya brought out a few reporters to take pictures and ask questions—which she avoided. If Alexandra got much more press, she’d be more real than Gaby.

That was a terrifying thought.

“Sasha,” Illya called. “Maestro is here for your practice!”

Gaby sighed. “Coming!” They’d be heading back to New York soon so she could practice with the Symphony. She could see Solo again then. Talk more about this plan. Maybe he could settle the uneasy feeling she had in the pit of her stomach.

***

Those last few days out in the country flew faster than Gaby would have liked. She _liked_ Mrs. Boygan and she liked Tchaikovsky and Korsokov. She even…she even thought she might like Illya—when he wasn’t being a jerk. He took her to his New York apartment, an incredible penthouse with a beautiful view of the city.

She was nervous walking into the concert hall for her last practice before the concert. There were photos everywhere—of Alexandra. Posters proclaiming the child prodigy. It was unnerving. But nothing was quite so unnerving as walking up onto that stage for the first time, surrounded by the New York Symphony, front and center at the piano.

But in spite of nerves, she managed to play competently, finally relaxing mid-way through. The seats would be full the next time she sat at this piano. She’d be playing for a real audience. After practice, she spotted Solo lurking. Illya was busy with the concert hall manager. She slipped away quickly, ducking into a side hall with him.

“You were brilliant,” Solo said. “I’ve never heard you play like that before.”

Gaby flushed. “Well, I suppose despite himself, Illya is very motivational.” She swallowed. “Solo—I don’t know if I can go through with this. I could just make Alexandra disappear. End this before it goes any further.”

“I don’t think that’s possible.” Solo sighed. “Alexandra’s a real person by now. Her face is everywhere. If you go making her disappear people will start asking questions. They’ll think I’ve got her buried somewhere.” He raised his eyebrows. “It’s too late for that.”

Gaby sighed, but Solo had a point. He usually did. “I just—I don’t know if I want to make a fool out of Illya. I _did_ , don’t get me wrong but now I’m not so sure.”

“I guess I could try and get my reporter friend to back off, but darling, you might want to think about why exactly you don’t want to hurt him.” He looked her in the eye. “Eh?”

Gaby flushed. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I think you do.” He leaned down, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow night. You’ll be brilliant and no matter what happens next, I think you’ll land on your feet.”

“Thanks, Solo.”

“Sasha!” Illya called. “Sasha where are you?”

“I gotta go. See you tomorrow night!” Gaby smiled and hurried back out into the main concert hall. “I’m right here!”

“Ah,” Illya smiled. “Good, come along now. Mrs. Boygan has a special dinner waiting for us.”

“All right.” Gaby smiled back. _One more day._

_I’ll tell him the truth after the concert._

_I make it right. I will._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second to last chapter everyone! I'm going to try and make the last one a long one.


	6. The Final Bow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gaby plays her concert and Illya finds out the truth.

Gaby counted the plates on the table with some confusion. “Do we have a guest?” she asked.

“Yes, Victoria is joining us.” Illya didn’t seem thrilled by that. “She insisted.”

Gaby frowned. “Oh.”

“She is a very important client.” Illya made an apologetic face.

“Of course.” Gaby nodded. “I understand.”

Illya turned toward her and smiled. “You—you are going to be wonderful tomorrow.”

 “I’ll just—go see if Mrs. Boygan needs help.” Gaby hurried off to the kitchen, heart racing. If Victoria wasn’t coming she could’ve spilled everything to Illya tonight. But Victoria raised her hackles, so to speak.

“Alexandra?” Mrs. Boygan looked at her as she entered the kitchen. “You don’t look happy.”

“Victoria is coming for dinner.” Gaby shrugged.

“Ah.” Mrs. Boygan smiled. “That explains it.”

Gaby raised her eyebrows. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I’m sure you don’t. Here, have a cookie.”

“Won’t it ruin my appetite?”

Mrs. Boygan made a noise in dismissal. “A cookie won’t hurt.” She pulled over the jar. “Go on.”

Gaby smiled and took a cookie. “Thanks Mrs. Boygan.”

“You’re welcome dear.”

***

Dinner was nearly a disaster. Gaby found herself getting more and more irritated at Victoria’s flirting and touching. The rational part of her understood she was, _maybe_ jealous that the woman got to pay such attention to Illya while he looked at her like she was… _like a little girl._ She didn’t want him to look at her like a little girl. She wanted him to see her. See Gabrielle Teller and not Sasha. But that just wasn’t possible. After the concert she was going to come clean, no matter what. Then she could…move back home. Maybe track down her father and just…

 _Just what Gaby? Play piano for the church choir?_ She didn’t want that life either. _I don’t know what I want anymore._

Except when she looked at Illya, she _did_ know. She just couldn’t admit it to herself.

The evening arrived. Gaby fussed with her [dress](http://cdn2.retrowaste.com/wp-content/gallery/1970s-womens-fashion-ads/1970-women-dacron-polyester-suit-dress.jpg). The pale pink wasn’t her first choice, but Illya’s face when she’d put it on had been… And the accordion pleated skirt did have a delightful amount of spin to it.

“You look lovely dear,” Mrs. Boygan said, leading Gaby to the edge of the stage. “Mr. Kuryakin had your piano brought from home, so everything will be just like it is there.” She pointed out the familiar grand piano out on the stage.

“Oh.” She swallowed.

Illya approached, a broad smile on his face. “Are you ready, Sasha?”

“Yes.”

“Just a few more minutes now.”

She nodded.

“There’s nothing to be nervous—oh, I see your brother has decided to make an appearance.”

“You did send him a ticket,” she replied.

“I did.” Illya nodded. “I’ll go have a word with him. Stay here with Mrs. Boygan.”

Gaby swallowed and then nodded, watching Illya walk toward Solo.

Solo smiled at Illya, hoping they weren’t about to have a fight. “Mr. Kuryakin. It seems you’ve been taking good care of her.”

“Of course I have.” Illya frowned. “I would—I would like you to be in her life. So long as you do not continue to—”

“Hold on there,” Solo interrupted. “There’s something you need to know. I didn’t bother her with it because I didn’t want to impact her performance. I told her I would keep this story from going to print, but it turned out my friend at the paper wasn’t quite as good a friend as I thought.” Solo pulled a folded newspaper from his jacket. “This is a friendly head’s up. I think she was going to tell you after the concert, but I know the reporters will try to blindside you.

“And Gaby cares too much about you for me to let that happen.”

Illya stared at the headline, grip tightening.

_Child Prodigy Hoax!_

Illya looked up from the paper, meeting Solo’s questioning gaze.

“She’s my friend,” Solo said. “Probably the only real friend I have in this damn city. I gave her the idea, so if you want to blame anyone—it should be me.”

Illya shook his head. “I—I can’t believe. She’s twenty-one? She’s been lying to me?”

“It just all got out of hand.”

Illya shook his head again. “I…” He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what he was feeling. He just felt—numb. He checked his watch. “I have to go.”

Solo watched him walk away. He’d thought breaking the news before the reporters got in Illya’s face would be better than seeing Gaby put in the middle of it but now he wasn’t so sure.

He sighed. “Good luck, Gaby.” He’d buy her a bottle of vodka in apology. She was probably going to need it.

Illya set the paper aside before approaching Gaby.

There was something not quite right about Illya’s expression. Something Gaby couldn’t pinpoint.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“Fine.” His brow furrowed as he looked at her. “It’s time to announce you.” He marched off to the stage.

Gaby frowned. He didn’t even sound like himself.

 She wasn’t sure what was wrong, but when he began his introduction of her to the crowd, she felt her heart drop into her stomach.

 _He knows._ Who had told him? Solo? Why would he do that? She was going to tell Illya the truth. As he walked off the stage, he didn’t even look at her. He just—walked away. Gaby swallowed, but she couldn’t stay in the wings, the stage manager was beckoning and the conductor.

 _The show must go on._ That’s what they always said anyhow.

She tried to swallow her fear and held her head up high. She was going to put on the performance of her life. Even if Illya hated her. Even if her career was ruined. She would show them _exactly_ who Gabrielle Teller was.

Out in the audience, Solo watched Gaby play for her life. It was impassioned. _Heartbroken._ It wasn’t like he’d expected Illya to sweep Gaby off her feet. The man was going to need time to adjust. No matter what happened next, he was going to be there for his friend.

Meanwhile, Illya was standing in one of the doorways out of the concert hall. He wanted to storm off but he couldn’t. He was enthralled, just as he had been that first time he’d heard her play. She had the whole audience in the palm of her hand. Regardless of her age, she was a virtuoso.

He had no idea what to do next. He wandered through the concert hall as she continued the performance, heading back stage toward the prep room where he’d left his coat. Mrs. Boygan was there.

“I—I need to think,” he said. “I’m going home.”

“You can’t leave her to face this alone,” Mrs. Boygan argued.

“She is not alone.” He thought of Solo. Solo, who’d taken the blame for it all. Solo, her friend. He would be there for her.

Mrs. Boygan frowned in disapproval, but remained silent as Illya walked away.

He didn’t leave though, he stayed, stayed long enough to hear Gaby finish playing, to hear the applause of the crowd—before slipping out through the back.

On stage, Gaby sat at the piano, tears dropping onto the ivory. She stood, taking a few steps out onto the stage and bowed to the applause, a tremulous smile stretched across her face. The stage manager brought her a bouquet, and she thanked him automatically and then hurried off stage.

Solo had managed to get back stage and intercepted her.

“Why did you do that?” Gaby demanded.

“That reporter friend of mine? She didn’t pull the story. I didn’t want him to find out when reporters stuck their cameras in his face. I thought I could soften the blow.”

Gaby shook her head. “He hates me now.”

“I’m sure he just needs time. Come on, I’ll buy you a bottle of vodka and we’ll go to my place and get _very_ drunk.”

Gaby nodded. “Okay.”

Solo wrapped an arm around her shoulders and led her out of the concert hall.

***

Gaby spent the next couple days at Solo’s because reporters were staking out her apartment. Drunk, because it seemed like the thing to do. Solo was kind enough to handle her official statements. He was very good at putting on a charming smile and saying charming things.

And when another scandal finally drew the media’s attention, Gaby was able to go back home. She kept getting calls from other talent agents—Waverly in particular was trying to get her in for an appointment. But Illya never called. So after weeks of uncertainty, she made appointments with the top four agents in New York.

It was a long day, ending with Waverly and a _very_ good dinner. By the time she made it back to her place, she was exhausted. She pulled off her heels before climbing the stairs, paying more attention to the floor than anything else. She fumbled with her keys, regretting that third glass of champagne, and walked straight into the person standing in front of her apartment.

She would have fallen, except that same person quickly grabbed her by the shoulders. Gaby blinked and looked up—and up.

“Illya…I mean, Mr. Kuryakin…what are you doing here?”

He was glowering at her, she was sure.

“You are drunk.” He took her keys out of her hand and unlocked her front door before helping her inside. “You should be more careful.”

She sniffed. “What do you care?” Gaby tugged free of him, stumbled and picked herself back up before heading into her living room to collapse on the couch. “Waverly took me out. I’ve been wined and dine.”

Illya closed the front door and followed her, setting her keys down on the table by the couch.

“You _never_ wined and dined me. I couldn’t even get you to keep an appointment.” She hiccupped. “So, what did you expect me to do? I had to get your attention _somehow_. But now I don’t need you. _Everyone_ wants to represent _me_. I guess I should thank you for that.”

“We still have contract, a _five-year_ contract, Gabrielle.”

Gaby snorted. “ _Alexandra_ has a contract, and she doesn’t exist.”

“I don’t care. You are Sasha and Sasha is you. I believe in keeping my promises.”

She raised her eyebrows at him. She _really_ wasn’t quite sober enough for this conversation. “Screw you.”

Illya’s eyes narrowed. “You lied to me, Gaby. I was angry, but I’m not angry anymore. I do, however, intend to give you what you deserve for lying to me.”

“Huh?”

Illya sat down next to her on the couch and quickly pulled her over his lap.

“You can’t do this!” she shouted. “I’m _not_ a child, or did you forget?”

“I did not.” He started with one very hard swat before lightening his swing and beginning the spanking he’d been thinking about giving her since the night of the concert. “Why did you wait so long to take appointments?”

“I just did,” she replied, wincing against the swats. “Stop it!”

“No. Why did you wait?”

Gaby sniffed, decidedly more sober now, and kicked but she knew she wasn’t going to get away from him.

“Gaby?” He swapped her thighs.

“Ah! I waited because I thought—I thought you would call.” She refused to believe she was crying. “I was hoping you would call. I _wanted_ you to call. But you didn’t, so I took appointments.”

“I see.” He kept spanking.

“I told you!”

“Yes, and now we are dealing with your lie. Because I think you feel guilty.”

She clenched her jaw. He wasn’t _wrong_. She did feel guilty. She’d been drinking more than usual. Ignoring Solo. She’d felt sick with it and she couldn’t even bring herself to go to him and apologize. Because she was scared. Scared he wouldn’t forgive her. Scared he wouldn’t—

But he _would_ forgive her, she realized as the heat built on her backside. He was just waiting for her to _ask._ She started crying in earnest, almost unwilling to say the words because she _deserved_ whatever he decided to give her.

“No, no, Gaby, don’t hold back now.” Illya tipped her forward, spanking the sensitive undercurve of her behind. “I know you are holding back.”

Gaby shook her head. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything. For lying to you. For making you look a fool. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She’d been awful and she’d made a fool of him and he didn’t deserve any of it. Maybe she didn’t even deserve to be forgiven.

“Oh no,” Illya stopped spanking and began to rub, easing the sting. “I will always forgive you my little wildcat. Always.” He began to hum that same lullaby from before, rubbing her back. “I forgive you, Gaby. You hear me?”

“Yes,” she managed.

“Good girl.” Gently, he turned her over and scooped her into his arms, peering down at her with an uncertain expression. “Your friend Solo, he came to visit me yesterday.”

“He did?”

Illya nodded, pulling out a handkerchief and dabbing the tears away. “He told me I was an idiot and that you had fallen for me. That you tried to call it off, you wanted to tell me the truth.” A smile flickered on his lips. “These past weeks…I’ve looked back at our time together. I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too.”

“I…I would very much like to take you out for dinner. What do you say?”

“Well, other than that you are a heavy-handed jerk and that there must be something wrong with me for wanting you—yes. I would like to go to dinner with you.”

Illya smiled. “Good.” He leaned down, pressing his lips against hers.

When he finally pulled back, she was smiling. “Well, I must say you’ve certainly moved closer to the top of the list.”

“List?”

“For my agent.” She grinned. “I still have to make up my mind.”

Illya narrowed his eyes. “Then I will endeavor to convince you.” He pulled her in for another kiss. When he pulled back, “Well?”

Gaby bit her lip. “Oh, I think we can do better than that.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. “Just so we’re clear,” she whispered against his lips. “The next time you try to spank me, I won’t go so easily.”

“Noted.”

The next day, when Gaby told Solo she’d signed a new contract, her overly charismatic friend took most of the credit, of course. And a year later when she asked him to stand up with her at her wedding, he took credit for that too. But Gaby didn’t really mind. She had everything she’d ever wanted.

_The End_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And...we've reached the end. It's strange that this rather short fic took me so long but, I hope you all enjoyed the ride.


End file.
